Reforged
by Narwhalnel
Summary: Sequel to Shattered Bonds. Dean has to get Sam's soul back. With Cas fighting a war, Death's responsibilities on his shoulders, and a maniac after Sherlock, will things ever be normal? And why is Dean acting so strange around Cas? SPN/Sherlock Destiel


Dean stared blankly out the flat window. No one could save his brother but one force. He was here, in some unfamiliar foreign town, because of an urge. He never gave a damn about Bella in the first place; he had just wanted an escape.

Regardless of his original reasons, he was here and Cas was bust tracking Balthazar so he wouldn't need to open Purgatory. So that left him with only a few options.

He knocked on the door and the consulting detective answered. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and refused to meet his eyes. "I need a favor."

He ushered him in and John served him tea, which they always had ready due to the constant stream of possible clients. He was silent for a little while, just searching for how to explain without asking the straight-up _truth_. "I-ah. I need a whack supernatural doctor. I don't have contacts here."  
>The two men exchanged glances. Waston threw the hunter a bewildered look. "It might help if we knew what you needed the doctor for. I am a doctor, you know."<p>

Dean cursed to himself. He couldn't see a way out of it. "No, I need a doctor to kill me."

Watson was by his side in a moment, hand on his shoulder. "It's perfectly healthy to be having those thoughts, Dean, but maybe it's better you talk to someone before committing suicide."

He sighed and raked his hands through his hair, down his face until they rested in a praying position on his lips, supporting his head. "I don't want to do this, but it's the only way to get Sammy's soul back."  
>Sherlock grinned. "Ah, what a risky venture. What makes you think the Grim Reaper will listen or talk to you?"<br>Dean's eyes shot up to meet his. "I hate it when you do that. Death…owes me a favor of sorts. Kind of. I helped him out and he helped me out. I figure maybe I can strike another deal. I need a doctor to put me down do I can start dealing though."

"I'll put out note in the Homeless network."  
>Watson sputtered. "Surely we're not going to help him <em>kill himself<em> to meet _Death_! He's but a young man."

Dean wheeled on the army doctor. "Listen, _John_. I've battled the devil, been to hell and back and that is _not_ a metaphor, dammit! I've fought things people believe are myth and know things no one should know. I've been in a war since Sammy was a baby so don't you dare belittle me with this-this age crap," He threw his hands in exasperation. "I've lost everyone I've ever touched and been hunted by Heaven. I have Fate running her scrawny little ass after me and I really don't need this kind of bullshit from you when I'm positive Sherlock is younger than I am."

Holmes appraised him with a sort of respect while Watson just sighed wearily. "I've got to be going; I've a date to be had. Don't kill yourselves while I'm gone."  
>They both snorted at his comments.<p>

Not long after Watson, Sherlock and Dean departed to spread news through the network. They then went their separate ways and the night ended for both uneventfully.

The next day, though, started with a literal bang that left the apartment shaking. The brothers, already with weapons in hand, exchanged looks and ran upstairs to check on their housemates.

He found Sherlock on the ground, barely conscious, with his windows blown out. It seems that the building across the way had exploded. He checked the pulse of the man and when satisfied canvassed the apartment, which turned up nothing.

In the end, Sherlock was fine. He was quite surprised to find he had a brother, though, who showed up not ten minutes later. Dean didn't like him. Reminded him too much of Crowley…but smarter and less sarcastic in that annoying Scottish way.

Apparently Sam didn't think the same because his face was completely neutral when they met.

But he would've.

If he'd had a soul.

Damn Robocop.

They were sitting around drinking in silence while Sherlock plucked annoyingly at a violin when John burst in sputtering about the news and Sherlock explained that it was simply a gas leak (apparently).

Dean got up and moved away from the brothers who were arguing civilly about something Mycroft (what a weird-ass name) wanted his little brother to look into. He poured John a small drink of rotgut and handed it to him before taking a swig from the bottle. "Got lucky last night, eh?"

John blushed, _actually blushed_. "No, we're dating but not seriously. I slept on her couch."  
>Dean looked confused. "But I thought not-serious relationships were all about getting tail?"<p>

"Not on the second date?" John looked equally confused.

Dean smirked and took another swig. "If you're lucky, there is no second date. Or date at all. If you're lucky you skip right to the good bits."

The older man just stared, open mouthed at the sexual deviancy that he suggested with ease.

"Yes, he tends to have that effect on people," Stated Castiel dryly from behind John. Everyone turned to see him, which was great since Mycroft hadn't seen him appear. "Dean tends to throw away most morals in pursuit of…a…'piece of ass' though I am unsure as to what a donkey has to do with the situation."

_Christ, he used the finger quotes and everything._

Sherlock merely prodded his brother about his weight and tweaked the strings of the violin yet again.

"Dean I wish to speak to you." The angel looked antsy. Dean nodded and led him into the kitchen, from which they could hear arguing between the remaining three and nothing from Sam.

"What's up, buddy?" He took another swig. Castiel looked on distastefully and grabbed a cup to place in his hands, grabbing the bottle and pouring him a proper drink while whispering. "Sam has been going out at night and slaying things at a rapid pace. I do not believe he wishes to reclaim his soul. He's had contact with Balthazar who told him he had to damage his emotional heart irreparably in order to escape having it return lest he suffer pain. It is probably for the best he is here and not in America where he would probably go after Bobby. At least here…we know the target will be you."

He set the bottle down gently on the table and focused on it. "We may have to bind him during your foolish excursion."  
>Dean winced and sipped at the whiskey. "Or he could go after you."<br>Castiel looked at him in surprise but as quickly as it was there, it was gone. "Yes, but I am much harder to kill."

Dean stared at him for a long moment and went for another drink just to break the silence of not knowing what else to say but a hand gently landed on top of the glass. Dean froze and stared at Castiel in confusion. He saw a look on the man's face that conveyed equal confusion, as if he too was confused about his own actions. Or possibly just confused by Dean. They both stood there, frozen for a few moments before Castiel took the glass and placed it on the table before grabbing Dean's left shirtsleeve and hefting it up to reveal the mark he had burned into the man so long ago as if he had intended this all along.

"This is a bond between us. Should you ever need help, I can…activate it so you can alert me to your being in danger or need for assistance but I need something in return."

He hesitated.

"Cas, what do you need?" Dean was weary, he felt like he was walking on eggshells.

"…An act of faith. You need to trust me utterly and completely. If you leave room for doubt, you could damage me and vice versa."

"Damage how?"  
>"Extreme doubt, I believe, would cause a blackout and a migraine. I am not sure as my only cause for comparison would be guardian angels that have grown too close to their charges."<p>

Dean nodded. "Alright, mojo me up."

"Stand still."  
>Castiel took a step nearer and it took all Dean's being not to jump away. His presence screamed at him and he was hyperaware of every eyelash and how his lips were <em>always<em>, perpetually parted the slightest bit. He lips approached the hunter's and Dean thought he was having an out-of-body experience. His mind screamed at him to move but he stayed, breathless.

When their lips were merely a few centimeters apart, a glowing blue mist exited Castiel's facial orfices and entered Dean's. His eyes stung, he felt like sneezing, and his mouth was suddenly filled with saliva that he quickly swallowed down. He felt it travel down to his mark and back out through it into Castiel's hand which still lay there. Castiel leaned back, a tad drained.

Dean cried out, clutching his head, and fell to his knees. Woozy, Cas leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. He was not prepared to see the face of the man rise, covered in tears that flowed without end.

Three sets of feet came running and they saw the two men on the floor in question. He pinned them with a harsh look. "Go back." He put a small amount of power of persuasion into the voice, so the humans turned back. Sam lingered suspiciously but eventually broke eye contact and headed back.

"Dean, what troubles you?" Cas asked, trying to hide his terror. He grabbed the man's shoulder but when that garnered no reaction he took his face into his hands and forced eyes contact. "Are you injured?"  
>Dean shook his head, a muted whimper of pain escaping his throat. His hands flew from his temples to his chest, gripping at his heart. "I-I….I remember when you saved me."<br>Castiel's brow crinkled. "You aren't being very clear," he made a move to stand and get help but was stopped by a hand that grasped at the sleeve of his coat. Dean gazed at him pleadingly.

"I remember you saving me."  
>Cas froze, mouth suddenly dry. "You what?"<br>"You didn't grip me…you cradled me. I was in a thousand pieces and oh, God, Cas I didn't think it could get worse. And I felt myself being picked up. I thought I was being restored for more but something was different. You placed my soul together and soothed the cracks, then cradled me in your arms and carried me away. Rising was almost as bad as anything they could've done. I remember the pain of demons scratching at us but damn me if I've never felt safer."

Castiel was speechless for a while. "Dean, you were not meant to remember that. It could have damaging effects on your psyche. You could go insane from the pain of rising back to the surface. I ask that you allow me to-"  
>"No." It was a whisper. But it was more than that which made Cas's voice halt in its tracks. It left no room for argument and no wish to have it changed. It was a stern but silent 'no', and he didn't know how to react.<p>

He stood there, fists clenching and unclenching with tension before lifting the man to his feet.

"I-originally I came here also to ask that I mark your new friends the same way I did you and your brother."  
>He nodded and wiped his face. He had completely turned into pudding. Fuck.<p>

Goddamn chick flick moments.

But he couldn't deny that the purity he felt when Castiel arrived…what he did and the feeling of safety he had felt…he couldn't deny that it would make anyone cry.

"I remember seeing your true form."  
>Castiel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean often did this when he was frustrated and had a headache. Maybe it would help.<p>

It didn't.

"I think six wings is overkill."

And he left the room to bring in John and Sherlock, just like that. He reappeared seconds later. If they could tell Dean had been crying they didn't comment on it but John did notice Dean's raised sleeve and got to see the scar firsthand. "Can I touch it?"  
><em>What is it with people and poking things they don't understand?<em>

But he nodded his assent and the second John's finger graced it Castiel could feel it, like a missing limb being tickled. He swayed with surprise and grabbed onto the table for support. The connection was still raw so any contact left him a bit dizzy. He was grateful when John stopped.

"Right then. You two need to sit. I'm going to mark your ribs."  
>"What?" John cried and looked at Sherlock. "Why? I'm starting to regret you two moving in here, you know?"<p>

Dean flinched and said, "Yeah well at least we're trying to protect you."  
>"I'm not. This is positively fascinating. What will you mark them with? Protect us how, exactly?"<br>"With Enochian sigils. They shall hide you from other angels who would hunt us through you. There's…conflict in the Heavens and I wish there to be as few human casualties as possible."  
>Sherlock nodded and without warning, Castiel pressed his hands on his sides. He cried out and fell to the floor. Before he could blink, the same process was repeated on Watson who also dealt with the odd sensation of instant excruciating pain and instant contentedness. He felt there should be at least some aching but there was none. "Let us go, John!" cried Sherlock. Said partner sighed.<p>

"He's going to want to get an x-ray now." And they were off.

They didn't really have much to do while waiting around. They couldn't track the aswang down again unless she wanted to be found and she did not want to be found. Castiel disappeared when it was apparent he had better things to do. So Dean sat there, watching the 'telly' and drinking a beer, absentmindedly rubbing the scar he had never given much thought to since his arrival back on Earth.

Sam came pounding up the stairs in twos and entered the open door, spotted his brother and asked, "Since when did you mark this as your new hangout?"  
>"Since they have television."<p>

Sam sat down on the chair across the room and Dean fought the skin-crawling sensation he always got around his empty younger sibling. That's how Sherlock and Watson found them, hours later, out of breath. Sherlock looked exalted and excited.

"What're you so happy about, Holmes?" grunted Sam, not caring if he woke his slumbering sibling.

"Long story short, an unknown madman strapped a bomb to some sad sap and gave Sherlock a time limit to solve a puzzle or he'd blow them up."

"Lovely. But pointless."

Watson shrugged in exasperation, not sure what else to say as he tried to catch his breath.

Shaerlock walked over to Dean and grabbed Watson's old walking stick and whacked the poor boy who startled awake with a snort and confused unintelligible mutterings. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Sherlock. "I figured you would appreciate a quick awakening." Sherlock smirked as he stepped across to grab his violin.

"Aw, man, c'mon don't do that plucky shit again."

Sherlock looked offended. "Most certainly not; I have something to contemplate."

With a flourish of indignation he twirled it onto his shoulder and held the bow in perfect position and began to play an exciting and dangerous tune that he couldn't place. Not that he knew anything about classical music.

That was always for the geeks like Sam.

Ignoring the wonderful melody, he turned to Sherlock and asked, "Did you find anything?"  
>John reentered the room, saw his face, and sighed, reaching in his pocket to hand Dean a slip of paper. "Sometimes I'll come home and have him tell me he asked for a pencil two hours ago when I've been gone all day."<p>

Dean shook his head. And read the paper. He swallowed and looked at it hard, really focusing on Sam in his peripherals. He would do it tomorrow. He would get someone to watch him.


End file.
